The Half-Giant's Guide to Seeing the Future

The Day I Crashed an Elevator

Before the elevator and the giant, I was having a wretched day. The park was swarming with joggers, and I was on edge, desperately trying to corral three over-energetic Yorkies back to their condo without causing a scene. That's when I sensed someone staring at me, adding to my already mounting discomfort.

I turned around, hoping if I faced the person who was ruining my dog walking and making my skin crawl, they'd look away in shame. In my eighteen years, I'd found that there are two types of people on the planet: those who stare and those who avert their eyes. Honestly, I prefer the latter. Most days, I could do without the mothers steering their gawking children away or the drunk men making jokes about what a tall drink of water I am.

The man staring at me from the park seemed like one of the unsavory sorts—a delivery man with no destination. It made me want to crawl back to my condo and never come back. The whole point of getting to the park at sunrise was to avoid the idiots and the people who couldn't deal with the strange.

Before you accuse me of exaggerating, let me present the cold, hard facts. I, Terri Oakeley, was not just tall. I was a towering 7 feet 2 inches, or 218.44 centimeters, if you're my grandmother from across the pond. In a world designed for ordinary heights, I was gigantic.

It was mostly an inconvenience. I frequently wondered if the world was meant for everyone else but me, a sentiment that grew more each time my head crashed into a doorframe. I'd petitioned my dad and stepmother to let me do high school online after I was harassed and made fun of my entire middle school career. They'd allowed it, and I was only two months away from getting my diploma. Sure, I had no social life, and my best friends were my stepsister and cousin, but I never had other friends, no matter what brick-and-mortar school my dad tried to send me to.

The Yorkies pulled on their leashes, taking me further from the delivery guy. I did one more lap around the small fountain in the center of the park, The chill of the morning crept into my bones like a terrible fog. I watched the horizon for a moment, hoping it would not be a pea soup day in San Francisco. The weather when I checked it just had a chance of rain.

I was done with the park and the creepy stares. This morning, at least three men and women gave me judgmental looks as they went for their morning runs before heading to their tech jobs. I knew the type: rich, careless, and judgmental.

My Uncle Chris was the owner of Oakmore Tech, a prominent start-up in the Bay Area. They were known for their expertise in developing state-of-the-art gadgets for the future, or whatever that implied. It was up to my dad, the head of the PR department, to solve that, but Dad dedicated most of his time to managing his brother Uncle Chris's destructive playboy behavior.

I led the Yorkies out of the park towards the food truck, where I spent most of my dog walking money. Mr. Williamson sold the best street tacos on this side of San Fransisco, and he loved making breakfast for the joggers at the park. The older man waved me over and smiled.

"Morning, Miss Terri," he said. "You interested in your usual?"

"Sorry, Mr. Williamson, I need to get these three," I gestured back to the dogs, "back home before their owner sends me an angry text."

After all, the Yorkies weren't mine. My dad and stepmother had four kids between the two of them, and they argued we didn't have space for a dog. I'd gotten my dog-walking job from Mrs. Dorkepski, a sweet, if batty, old lady downstairs. Her son-in-law bought her a condo with his Silicon Valley money, which seemed to be a waste since she was always away and visiting them. I came in most days, walked the dogs, and made sure they got regular meals.

"Wishing you the best of luck," Mr. Williamson said.

I steered the Yorkies down the street and back to the condo building. As I turned the corner around the block, I tossed a glance over my shoulder. The weird delivery guy was now talking to Mr. Williamson, but he was looking past him, and our eyes met. I turned back and tried to urge the dogs to move faster.